a piece of cake.
I feel like I’m inches from having my own tiny bakery. I surprisingly stay busy enough with orders to keep a bake shop open, and for some reason the thought of taking the risk no longer scares the living poo out of me- It actually kind of comforts me. I feel silly saying this, because I haven’t been religious since an incident about a year after going through conformation, but I feel...
I can’t recall the last time I’ve fought a fair fight. My fights go as follows: I get walked all over, perhaps kicked a few times; I pick the wrong time to stand up for myself; I’m the bad guy; the “good guy” walks away happy; I get dirty looks from their friends, aunts, uncles and the fucking family dog. Why does my timing suck soooo bad?
Spoons of the same drawer
I know this doesn’t make up for my freak out about you posting this on my car door where everyone can see it, but it’s a step towards openness. I love you, sir. “I’d always loathed it here I never knew why best I can figure it was in your lack of I before I’d felt you i never could have know this happiness that I’ve never shown nothing is quite as...